A Cinderella Story
by JediYvette
Summary: A somewhat unorthodox version of Cinderella--don't expect fairy godmothers.
1. Prologue

A Cinderella Story

**Note: This originally was intended to be your normal retelling of Cinderella. I never really was a fan of the story because I always felt it was very superficial, and because of that I guess, it has evolved into what you are reading now. You will catch glimpses of Cinderella-esque material here and there, but it does not follow your average telling of the story. This is also one of my first attempts at a serious non-Star Wars piece, so bear with me. Thanks. :)**

_Prologue_

I didn't ask to be beautiful. I didn't get to pick my appearance nor the current social opinion of beauty at that time. It just happened. At to be honest, it did me little good anyhow. It caught the attention of a young royal, placed me in a beautiful castle and in the lap of luxury, and out of the servitude I lived my whole life in. But see, it was that royalty who put me there in the first place. And my beauty? People assumed it was a gift. It was no gift--it was a curse. One that took years to escape from.

----------

My mother's nobility was just a name. The family fortune had long been spent, and the blue blood diluted and tainted over the generations. Her mother hoped to bring back honor to the family and restore its wealth by marring her off to a nearby land-baron. Instead of fortune, she chose to follow her heart and eloped with my father, a captain of a modest shipping vessel. They never were rich, but that suited them both, and they were happy. That is all that mattered.

While they were still newly wed, the tyrannical king of the land issued tax after tax on the working people to finance an ongoing war with a neighbor kingdom. It hurt industries everywhere, my father's shipping business included, and the never ending power struggle between the 2 feuding nations left low morale with its people. No one could even remember why they were fighting, it had gone on for so long. I guess its only human to get frustrated when in such discouraging circumstances, and action, regardless of how rash, gets taken. A rebellion was formed and they assassinated the king. However, they were caught and hanged. My father was among them.

The other families of the rebels were also executed. The only thing that saved my mother was her title. Instead she was placed as a servant in a house of a wealthy noble woman and her 2 daughters. The normal person in her place would have preferred death over the humiliation of working for another of the same rank, but head held high, she faced her fate. Besides, she spent a happy life as a commoner with my father. It was nothing new to her. She was 4 months pregnant with me at the time.

I never knew my father. All he is to me is the stories my mother told me during my childhood. He sometimes didn't seem real--like a mythical hero of the fairy tales she would also tell me. Like Odysseus and Beowulf. But in those stories, they always came home. Someday I hated my father for putting my mother and I in our situation. On occasion I would find my mother weeping late at night. She always seemed so strong to me, it was odd to see her breakdown. I assumed it was because of our circumstances, for I too was embarrassed to have to earn my keep for a stern woman and her obnoxious children. It was his fault this happened to my mother and I, and his fault she was so sad. As a child I couldn't help my resentment, and try as she did, my mother never could fully ease the anger that would boil inside of me. Through cloudy eyes she spoke of him with admiration, but all I could see was scrubbing boards and chaffed hands--the results of his thoughtless acts. It wasn't until long after my mother passed away of a fever, did I see the courage my father really had.

She died when I was eleven during a severe winter. After her death, no one would not take me in, for my mother was disowned by her family after her elopement, and I was as good as dead to them too. Especially since I was a rebel's spawn; claiming me as theirs would be dishonorable to the family name. My father's family too would not admit to me belonging to them--I was tainted by the rebel's name, like an infectious disease. So I was forced to stay under my mistress and now my new guardian's roof and take on all my mother's duties as well as my own. I had to learn fast how to weave thread, sew hems and match up holes in material. I would have to work hard for my keep. All I had to grow up with was a sewing needle and a scrubbing brush, with the stories of my father and memory of my mother in my head. But it was better then death right?


	2. A summer day

It was a pleasant afternoon, one of the few ones of the summer and I intended to enjoy it the best I could. The mistresses of the house left for a jaunt in the park, giving me the whole house to myself for a brief moment. Though I had to spend that time scrubbing, mending and otherwise being busy, it was nice not having glares over my shoulder or my name constantly being yelled out with more orders. So, I worked steadily, humming cheerfully, as the summer winded blew through opened windows, making the room for once seem tranquil.

I lifted the pail and filmy cleaning rag off the main hall's floor and gazed at my work. Each pale tile shown brightly and even glittered under the candle chandelier. I tugged the newly cleaned Persian rug to its place in front of the grand entryway, and replaced the polished silver cups and trinkets back in their rightful display cases. Sighing happily, I had finished all the tasks I had been given and decided to treat myself to a rare, but much needed break. Walking outside, I poured the filthy cleaning water onto the grass and placed my cleaning supplies on a hanger just inside the aged barn where horses once stayed. Then I walked to the very far and mostly hidden from sight end of the manor and into an apartment that once housed a gardener. 

I took off my soiled work apron and placed it on a hook on the door--I would clean it later. Now was some 'me' time. I stretched out on the dull flannel blanket that covered my rickety bed and stared at the ceiling. The warm sunlight covered my face making me feel drowsy. Relaxing more, I let my mind drift, until I fell into the first peaceful sleep I had in so long.

"Mother!" I heard someone yell shrilly in my sleep and I woke with a start, "Mother! She is asleep in here!" Camille, one of the mistress's daughters stood in my doorway and spitefully commented looking down on me still lying on my bed, "Mother will be displeased you were napping when there was work still to be done." Raising her chin slightly she haughtily added, "We should not have to house a poor orphan who is useless. We can throw you on the streets you know." Then she turned and left.

And I did know. That is why I never spoke to my mistresses with disrespect or dismissed an order given by her or her daughters. She was all that was saving me from destitution. But knowing that I finished all she asked of me for the day, I did not dwell so much on fearing her. It would be unfair to reprimand me. I rose from my bed and sat up, shaking the drowsy feelings away. Smoothing out the wrinkles on my grey woolen dress, I got up from the bed and retied the green ribbon hold back my hair. 

Camille was standing next to her mother as I entered the side entrance of the manor, both had perfect posture, and a snobbish countenance. They looked very much alike, trim with a cream complexion and dazzling auburn hair, though the mother's was shot with grey. They were the embodiment of prestige and wealth. I am sure they slightly wrinkled their noses as I walked up to them and gave a slight curtsey. I believe they thought even being in their presence was too good for me.

"Girl," my mistress sharply declared, for she never spoken my name, "I must wonder why you think you have the right to neglect your duties while we are gone. Do you really think we wouldn't notice?"

Staring confused, I slowly and quietly replied, "Madam Scheffield, I assure you I completed all the tasks you gave me."

Camille stepped forward before her mother could replied, "And what pray tell, is the assurance of a--," her nose wrinkled more as she spat out "servant?" Then she turned to her mother, "This floor cannot be considered clean, Mama! Look at it" and with a perfectly shaped nail, pointed to invisible dirt spots. Madame Scheffield must have seen these unnoticeable spots as well, for she glared back at me. "You," she angrily pointed at me, "will finish this floor and then return to your room. I do not want to see your face for the rest of the day! Consider this a warning--if this occurs again you will be out on the streets! You miserable rebel..."

Defeated and humiliated, I retrieved my pail and filled it with water and soap. Taking it and my wash rag, I walked back into the manor house and placed it on the floor to moved the Persian rug out of the way. Before I could get back to cleaning, Camille walked in. "You should not leave your things unattended--someone might trip on them." With that she kicked over my pail and I gasped as it flowed all across the great expanse of the hall. She chuckled and replied, "Clumsy me." She then left me to mop up the mess.

It took me the rest of the evening to sop up the water Camille spilt on the floor and clean the tiles to Madam Scheffield's expectations. Some how in it all, I was also conveniently not invited of dinner and sent back to my room hungry. It wasn't the first time, so it wasn't a nasty shock, just frustrating and very unfair. At that I could hear my mother's voice comment, "And since when was life ever fair?" I couldn't help but smile at her memory. Even now, 7 years after her death, I could still feel parts of her around me. Maybe that is what gave me the courage to go on.

I sat on my bed until the lights went out of the manor house, wishing my mother was still with me. She died a long time ago, but the pain was ever present. On days like this, she'd hold me in her arms and quietly speak of a day when everything would be okay. But I could never see a day where everything would work out. I always knew this way of life, and just assumed I would grow old here, like the mistress's kindly cook, who looked older then life itself. Joking aside, I loved Cook. She was one of the only people who didn't sneer when they saw me near. Everyone else just comment "Dirty rebel spawn" and turn their noses at me. She just would hand me a leftover apple tart when no one was looking and to keep my chin up. She reminded me so much of my mother some days. What would I do when I lost her too?

Feeling sad again, I looked out the slit window in the rook of the room and gazed at the sky. Was my mother among the stars in the heavens? Did she look down on me? Why did she have to leave me here? Then I grew angry, and thought 'And why did my father do this to us?! Its his fault I am here!' Bitterness overwhelmed me and angry tears fell from my eyes. I would never forgive him, never ever, for this. Let him rot in rebel's hell for all I cared. Still crying I turned to my bed and laid on the blanket. My temper was still too hot to sleep though.


	3. A walk in the village

Being the peak of the summer season, the weather was still hot and the sun beat heavily down on my head as I walked through the market, running errands for Madam Scheffield. My woolen dress, much too warm for such weather stuck to my skin and made me itch all over. However, I preferred being outside in this weather then stuck up in the manor house all day, where the heat was magnified with no occasional cool wind. I actually was caught off guard when madam asked me to go out, knowing full well that I hated being cooped up inside in this kind of heat. Very gratefully nonetheless, I left the others back at the manor and escaped into the village. One of the reasons I think I liked the village so much was because it was full of people like me--the working class of the kingdom. They never turned their noses at me, or rudely called me names. Some even knew of my father and spoke of him and his deeds with admiration. Of course I did not believe them but still smiled through tight teeth.

"Norie!" the miller's wife called out to me as I examined stacks of flour at the miller's stall. Smiling, I looked up at the matronly woman. "Good day, madam," I replied politely and slightly bowed my head in respect to my elder. She laughed girlishly at me. "I think you stayed among those nobles to long for your own good, Little Norie." I couldn't agree more, I thought, but just tightly laughed, pretending it was a joke.

There was an awkward silence after, and quickly changing the subject, she asked, "What brings you to the village market today?"

Appreciative of the change of topic, I pulled out the list I was given before I left that morning. "Madam Sheffield wants flour, fresh vegetables, various herbs, and I am to stop by the silver-smiths to see if there is anything suitable for Camille."

She muttered with disapproval. "She spoils that daughter of hers rotten."

"Well," I stated rather bitterly, "What do you expect, she is her favorite. I think because they both look and act so alike."

"You mean they both have turned up noses and think themselves better then everyone else?"

"Something like that," I said coyly, smiling at her and we broke into laughter.

Eventually, I made my way from the miller's stand and his chit-chatty yet kind, wife, and continued to walk through the villagers stands, the sack of flour lying heavily in my wicker hand-basket. I passed stands selling beautiful bolts of silky fabrics in more colors then I could imagine, beaded jewelry in just as many hues, I even saw glass slippers! I wasted many a moments staring at the crystal shoes, wondering how on earth someone could walk in such things. They had to pinch toes something fierce! I even bought a daisy from a shoe-less little girl in dirty clothes selling them from a basket, with all the money I could call my own at the moment--which wasn't much, and placed the flower in my hair. Seeing her smile up at me, cheered me greatly and I patted her head as I continued through the market place.

It didn't take long to acquire all the items I was sent for (except for jewelry for Camille--the silver-smith was ill that day) and I started to carry my heavily laden basket back to the manor. As I was making my way through the suddenly busy paths and through the bustling crowds, I felt my arm suddenly relieved of the basket's weight. Suddenly looking to my side, I saw a gentleman in the attire of one of the king's guards holding my basket. Before I could shout out a complain, he lifted his red cap and bowed his head to me. "Such a fair lady as yourself should not have to carry such a heavy basket." He had a crooked smile and a humorous glint in his dark eyes. I wanted to smile back, but couldn't.

"Sir, being of the Royal Guards, you are better off not conversing with me. I assure you, for the sake of your honor."

He didn't stop smiling and in fact laughed. "Why would you say that, my good lady?"

"I am Nora Suther," I replied, but the guard smiled on, not making the connection. I then added, "Nathaniel Suther's daughter."

His lopsided grin fell from his face fast as his eyes darkened. "Oh," he managed to mumble.

"Forgive me, sir," I said sadly, try to take my basket back, "I've already taken too much of your time."

But he wouldn't let go, and instead increased his grip on its handle, as he continued to stare at me. I felt drawn to his intent stare as everything else around us for a second spiraled out of existence, and I wished myself clean of my father's tainted blood, even just for this one little moment. However, I knew that was impossible, and as the world returned to normal, jerked my basket back. "Please sir, let go." With that, he released his grip and tipped he's hat at me. Then I turned and quickly left, without looking back, though I could feel his gaze still on me.

---

"Girl!" Madam Scheffield exclaimed as I was met by her in the kitchen, "What took you so long? You were dawdling again, weren't you!"

Placing the basket on the counter of the wash sink, I replied quietly, "It was more crowded then usual, and it was hard to find everything right away." A lame excuse I know, but she never believed any of them anyways, so it mattered little. 

Just as predicted, she spat, "Likely story! Why do I even trust you to do this simple chore?" Not waiting for my response, for there wasn't one I could respectfully give, she grabbed the basket from where I set it and rummaged though its contents. "I take it there was nothing suitable for Camille then? Or did you just not feel the need to look at the jewelry?"

"The silver-smith was ill and didn't set up a stand," I commented, and Madam Scheffield snorted. "Whatever. Its not like you had an eye for spotting fine jewelry anyways. I'll check for myself the next chance I get." She looked up at me and then snapped, "And take that silly flower out of your hair! What do you think you are? A pixy?" After calling for Cook to start the bread now that the flour was here, she pointed towards the library. "Camille has complained about the dust in there. Do something about it." I curtseyed and left as she was giving instructions to Cook for the day's meal.

Later that night, with all the work for the day done, I looked out the slit in the roof of my room and gazed at the stars. But I couldn't see them. All I saw were two dark eyes full of humor staring back at me. I doubted I would ever see the guard again, but still... I've never been called a fair lady before.


	4. Maureen

Maureen, Madam Scheffield's other daughter, sat on her bed carelessly tossing books into a bulky black trunk that stood at the foot of her bed.

"Careful, Miss Scheffield," I warned as I walked into the room with her breakfast tray, "books can be damaged easily."

"What does it matter?" she asked bitterly, continuing to toss her texts in, the unorganized pile growing taller then the trunk itself, and starting to spill onto the floor. With nothing else to throw in the general direction of her packing, Maureen looked up at me when I did not answer her question. "You know as well as I that the reason I am sent to the university every fall is so I will be out of the way. I am no fool." Angrily, she continued, "I am not the favorite, I know, but I hate going to study far away from here every fall."

I was about to comment that she said that every year when she left, but she cut me off. "I know I can come back every holiday, but that is not the same. Its been years since I was able to be here for the Spring Festival or the Celebration of the Leaves in fall. And I hate being in such a big city. I want to be here! Its not fair!"

"I am sorry miss," I mumbled. What else is there to say?

Maureen bitterly laughed. "Its because I am not like _her_, isn't it?"

Again, I couldn't respond. Maureen has always been my favorite of the family for the very reason she was so unlike the others. While she enjoyed the high life of being of nobility and the leisure and relaxation that came with it, she never was pompous or conceited about her station like her mother and sister. I stood there holding her breakfast plate, as Maureen rose from her bed and paced across the floor, unable to leave until I was dismissed. I however, was glad to be around to give whatever support I could.

She ran her hand through her light brown hair, deep in thought. After a prolonged silence, the only sound being the rustle of her skirts as she walked over and over across the floor of her room, she muttered, "I don't know why I am getting so upset. I go through this every year I am about to set off for school." Smiling sadly, she looked around after finally stopping in the middle of her room, then added, "I just wish I didn't have to leave. Why can't she see that I love it here? The quaint village, the parks, the mountains in the landscape, everything. The city is so different. Its always busy and there is never a moment of peace. I am at peace here."

"I am sorry," I repeated, feeling dumb not being able to add more.

Maureen shook her head, "Its not something you would understand, is it?"

"What do you mean?" I inquired suddenly puzzled, still standing with her breakfast plate in her room's entry way.

"Nevermind," she quickly said, then added "I don't feel like eating. You can return that to the kitchen now." Then she kneeled beside her trunk, and attempted to organize the towering contents so they'd all fit.

I remained in the door. "Miss Scheffield," I said hesitantly, knowing full well I was out of my station, "I would really like to know what you meant when you said I wouldn't understand."

Book in hand, Maureen paused, and then let out a breath. Looking up at me, she just stated, "You don't seem like the type to want to study." With that, she went back to packing. "Please return that to the kitchen and tell my mother I'll meet her for lunch." I knew a hint when I heard it, and gave a slight curtsey as I carried out the tray. I couldn't help wondering why she'd think I wasn't the type to go to a university and study. I would love to go to school and learn! But circumstance did not give me much of a chance to study. My mother taught me to read and and enough math to get by in the village market, and even that was without the knowledge of the mistress of the house. I knew I would never see the inside of a school and was suddenly envious. Especially so, since Maureen didn't even want to go!

Cook saw me walk in with Maureen's plate. "Poor dear," she clucked, "She does this every year."

"I don't see what her problem is," I commented testily, " I would give anything to get away from here and go to school. She doesn't know what she has and the opportunities given to her on a plate! I would give anything to be in her place! Its not fair!" That phrase again. How many times do say it a day? Cook shook her head and echoed the words my mother said day after day in my youth, "Life isn't fair, child. You have to just live with what you have and move on." 

"I know that," I said suddenly angered, "Everyday I know that! That doesn't mean I can't be resentful. I didn't ask for this!!"

"Calm, dearie," she hushed me, "you don't want the mistress hearing you, do you?" I shook my head and she patted my hand, "Good girl. Now take a deep breathe, smile, then deliver these to Madam Scheffield and Miss Camille. They should be awake by now." She then handed me 2 trays with toast and strawberry jam on it.

-----

Later that day, I was sent back to Maureen's room on Madam Scheffield's orders, to encourage Maureen to come down for dinner, since she had already missed lunch. "She can be such a pain," I heard Camille complain over her dinner plate as I walked out, "I don't see what her..." Her voice ceasing as the dinning room door shut behind me.

"Tell her I will not be making an appearance tonight." Maureen was sitting in her high backed chair, staring out her bedroom window, not even looking at me. There was a book opened on her lap.

"She only cares for your health," I urged, "its not good to miss every meal in a day."

She didn't move, or give any response to hearing what I said. "She is you mother! And its your last day here."

"Isn't that her fault?" She didn't move from her spot. Then her voice grew more authoritative, "Now just tell her I will not grace them with my appearance tonight!"

I continued to stand in her entry way. I could tell she sensed my presence because she no longer sat straight and rigid like in a trance. Like I thought, she commented, "I would think you'd know what an order was when it was given to you." 

"If you won't do it for your mother, do it for me? I worry about your welfare." My voice wavered, afraid that I went too far out of my station.

She laughed at me from her chair, and she rose from her seat, now holding her book. "And why would a servant care for my health? I would think you'd hate me and revel in my misery."

"There is already too much hate in the world, don't you think miss."

She was silent for a minute and then gave a heavy, frustrated sigh. "If I go to dinner, will you leave me alone?"

I curtseyed, "Yes miss."

She laughed bitterly again, and went down the stairs. I was about to turn and leave too, but then paused and looked at the book Maureen had held and now lay on her bed. The cover was a red dyed leather and the pages worn and yellowed. The title suggested that is was on the monarchs of the kingdom. Now fascinated, I sat on her bed and began reading. I didn't understand a lot of the words, my vocabulary not being as refined as Maureen's, but I managed to stumbled through page after page of the book with adequate understanding. It had been many years, maybe even before my mother died, that I read a book. It seemed so right in my hands.

I didn't mean to spend all dinner time in her room reading, but I couldn't put the book down, like it was adhered to my palms. I wasn't missed by the mistress, though the dinner plates had to be cleaned off by Cook because I was absent from the kitchen when the other's left the dinner table to talk in the parlor. It wasn't until I heard footsteps up the stairs that I remembered where I was. Quickly dropping the book back on Maureen's bed, I rose from her bed and about to dash out when I ran face to face with the older Scheffield daughter.

"What are you doing in my room?" Maureen spat at me.

I mumbled an incoherent response, so afraid she would tell her mother or sister. My hands started to shake whe I pointed to her bed as I tried to explain I was reading her book.

"Stop your babbling and tell me what you are doing in here!"

"I...." pointing to her bed again, "I... was just reading.... your book." Her angered expression didn't change and I grew more frightened, now wondering what would happen to me when Madam Scheffield found out that not only did I miss duties, I was reading a book of her daughter's without any permission? "I am sorry!" I stammered desperately, "please don't tell your mother. I didn't mean it! I wanted to read a book, Just once."

Her cold blue eyes softened a little. "Why would I tell my mother? Like I care how delinquent a servant of hers is. Just get out of my room!" She pointed to the door way.

I managed a much thankful squeak, and walked passed Maureen as she entered and the door slammed behind me. At least Madam Scheffield wouldn't know. As long as Cook didn't tell her. Hurrying into the kitchen, worried that she might have turned me in, I found Cook scrubbing the dishes I should be cleaning. "Cook, I am sorry," I managed to gasp, then grabbed the scrubbing brush, "I just lost tract of time."

Cooked smiled grandmotherly at me, "I understand child. Just don't let it happen okay, now. You hear?"

Nodding, with a sigh of relief, I resumed my daily chores of the night.

-----

Maureen left for the university the next morning at dawn. As I and the other servants waved from the lawn, Madam Scheffield and Camille dined inside for an early breakfast. I couldn't help thinking how heartless that was of them. Their own daughter and sister, and she would be gone for months until the first break from classes. Maybe I'll never understand these nobles. Maybe my mother was right in leaving them all... no, that is not true. Nobility is far better then the state I am in.

Before returning to the house to clean up after the Scheffield's breakfast, I went into my little room to pick up my work apron. There on my bed I found Maureen's book, where I left off in it marked with a piece of pink ribbon.


	5. Caught in the rain

It was the 5th day in a row of an ongoing rain spell and everyone was growing irritable with being cooped inside all day. Even kindly Cook would be flustered with the nasty weather and get angry at the simplest of mistakes.

"Nora," I knew she was testy when she addressed me by my name, and not 'Child', "for heaven sakes, how could you be so clumsy?"

I knelt down and picked up the tray of pastries that was knocked over and apologized profusely. It looked like lunch would be without raspberry tarts. Not that is mattered; Camille did not even like them.

Both Ladies of The House didn't even rise when they found out it was still raining outside. I was continuously running to either of their rooms to be given bedside orders. It could be worse, I thought, they haven't asked me to do anything outside in the rain.

I too was tired of the on-going rain and stared out the windows whenever I was given a break. I kept wishing for an excuse to escape to Maureen's room and at least find a good book to read since I finished the one lent to me weeks ago, but never found the chance. Why would anything need to be cleaned in a vacant room? Soon, Madam Scheffield and her daughter ran out of chores to assign me, and my very presence frustrated them, and eventually, I was in fact assigned to get out of the house.

"Go to the market and buy me something!" Madam Scheffield demanded, handing over a few gold coins from her nightstand.

"But not many villagers will be selling anything in this weather.

"Girl," Madam Scheffield angrily stated, "I gave you an order!"

Apparently not caring if the cold, rainy weather would affect my health, she pointed out her door. I exited wondering what business I would find in such dreary weather. I trudged down the sodden path that led from the manor house to the peasant village my basket in hand and a grey flannel cape covering my head and back. Not very far, but because of the weather, difficult to travel, the trip seemed longer today. Managing to make it through all the mud, I was surprised to find the market as bustling as sunny afternoons.

Walking into the miller's shop, since this was no weather for the customary stalls, I found his wife measuring bags of wheat flour for customers. Thankful to be out of the rain, I removed my cloak and draped it over my arm. Not needing any and not wanting to take anyone's time, I waited to the side of the slate counter, which was covered in a fine dusting of white flour.

"Norie!" she chirped, when the last of the store's patrons left to return to the rain showers, "What on earth are you doing out on a day like this?"

As if on cue, the rain started to come down faster, the sound audible in the store.

"Madam Scheffield got tired of my presence I guess," I said, then trying to be witty, added, "I don't know why, considering what good company I am."

She laughed tightly, but frowned again. "I don't see how she could have sent you all this way. What did she want that was so important?"

"She didn't say. Just said for me to buy her something."

"There is a lot of 'somethings' here, dear. Pick one and hurry home." The miller's wife looked serious.

"I don't think we need anymore flour," I said looking around her shop, "I didn't even expect the village stored to be open on days like this."

"Business can't be ceased by a little rain. We need the revenue so we can't break for weather. Anyways, people always need flour, and its times like this people seem to notice it the most." Nora laughed at the villager's lack of preparation, "Count on us to start worrying after the rains fall."

I laughed, and bid my adieus and was about to leave, when she said, "Wait." Then, grabbing something from behind the counter and passing it to me, she said, "It'll at least cover your head." I put my cloak back on and when out the door, opened her umbrella and joined the throngs on people trying to get their shopping done as fast as they could, so they could go home. I wandered the shops, their warmth welcoming from the wet of outside. However, I couldn't think of what Madam Scheffield would want to me to buy. I bet she is glad I am out of her way, I thought, and in reality, was glad to be out of her way myself. I just wished it hadn't been so cold out.

Finally, after a good amount of time in the rain, I stumbled upon a perfumery in the grander part of the village. Under normal circumstances, lord and ladies could be found milling about the shops, walking along the streets that were actually paved! I hated being in this area, because the peasants that dared to shop here were constantly being ridiculed by the upper class customers. However, the nobles were smart enough to keep indoors, and the streets only had a few workers, and lit store fronts. Madam Scheffield always spoke of the store owner's perfumes with admiration, so I thought it would be an ideal purchase.

Opening the door, I was hit with hundreds of scents, creating a pleasant atmosphere as I walked in. On display were countless bottles of clear and colored liquids in beautiful glass bottles. An old woman with gnarled hands and frizzy grey hair stood hunched over the counter, boiling flower petals in a small dish under a large candle. She looked up at me as I walked around the store, noting my unappealing attire, and declared, "What is the likes of you doing in here. I am not a haven from the rain."

Ignoring the insult, I declared in a clear voice, "My mistress requires a perfume."

"How do I know you aren't lying to get out from the weather?"

I handed over the coins Madam Scheffield gave me. She looked closely at them to make sure they were genuine, and stated, "This won't buy much perfume. What did she have in mind?"

I explained that I was to take her advice and buy whichever perfume she suggested. "Because you don't seem like the type to know much about scents, eh?" She laughed at me from behind the shop counter. I attempted to stand tall and not let her taunts affect me. If anyone was staying too long among the nobles it was her!

She handed me a small vial in the shape of a apple blossom. "Your mistress I think would like this one." She opened the lid and suddenly I was immersed in the scents of spring. I knew Madam Scheffield would like this. She placed it in a small box for me and hinted for me to leave. As I turned to exit the shop, a small group of the 3 royal guards rushed in. "Good lady," one anxiously declared, " the Queen Mother is ill, and we ask for your help."

"Do I look like the apothecary or a healer to you?" she flatly stated, not intimidated by the presence of the kingdom's elite fighters. I saw her turn her back on them and commence boiling the flower petals, dismissing their existence.

"Madam," the guard said, this time giving her a more respected title, "We couldn't find either the apothecary or a healer among your village residents. Your knowledge of herb lore is well known among serf and noble alike. Please, we are desperate."

She turned back around and sighed. "I can't promise any results, but I'll try." She then saw me, still standing by her door. "Get out, you wench!" The guards stared at me, as I was caught off guard by her remark, and apologized to the woman. I spoke so softly and incoherently she didn't understand a word I said, and I must have looked foolish. "Just leave me to my business. I don't house poor little servant girls like you in here!" I nodded, and rushed out embarrassed, hearing there laughter at me in the background. Later, I was just grateful that the guard I ran into before wasn't among those laughing at my expense.

-----

Madam Scheffield stared at the bottle I placed in her hands. "It took you half a day to find _this_?" she asked me.

"I couldn't think of what you would want Madam," I said, staring at the ground. She wasn't as impressed with it as I had thought. I would never do anything right in her eyes, would I?

"Well, the scent is too juvenile for me, and Camille doesn't like such sweet scents. Save it for Maureen when she returns from school. I don't want her to think I have forgotten her while she was away." With that, the flower bottle was placed back in my hand, as Madam Scheffield let her head drop back among the pillows on her bed. I curtseyed and left. At least I was able to go into Maureen's room, I thought, then wondered what books I would find there.

I put the vial of perfume on a lower level of her book shelf, and let my eyes run over the volumes there. I wouldn't have to worry about anyone seeing me. The mistresses were in their chambers, and Cook and her scullery maids started dinner preparations in the kitchen. Running my fingers over the spines of the books, I finally selected one on the Code of Chivalry that knights had to follow and snuck out of her room, the book behind my back. I escaped the house, and put the book under my cloak ad I walked though the rain to my room. I hid it under my mattress with the other book of Maureen's. remembering my umbrella I left at the front steps when I came into the manor, I ran and grabbed it then hung it on the knob by my door. My apron tossed aside. I knew the importance of thoughtful (and useful) gifts and not to take them for granted. Hoping I wasn't missed, I reentered the house in time to serve dinner. I was proud of myself that I managed to do it all unnoticed. Maybe being invisible wasn't so bad.


	6. A peek into the past

Madam Scheffield had some 'very important, well respected friends' over for the day, and she didn't want anything to ruin the event. In other words, I wasn't welcome in the vicinity of the house for the entire day. That was why I was able to spend the day with the miller's wife in-town. 

It was Sunday--the only day of the week when bustling crowds were absent from the street. While the mill stayed open for the occasional shopper not observing the rest day, it was seriously doubted any sales would be made today. Instead, she and I sat around her table and talked the day away. The shop cat, an orange tabby named Daisy, slept on my lap as I casually stroked its fur while listening to the latest gossip from the village.

"They may have to close one of the printers," the miller's wife sadly stated, "So few people here can read; there wasn't enough business for the Harper's to begin with, it would seem pretty obvious that the new one would only cause problems. Then again, they were from a village farther from the castle, maybe they weren't informed how poor of an area this close to the royal capital is."

"Well, that isn't so," I replied assuredly, "We are just closer to the nobility and the royals themselves, and thus more exploited. We are stuck since we are one of the centers of the kingdom, where all the greatest of nobles want to be--otherwise they'd never gain entrance to the King's Court and all that pomp and circumstance. I am sure if we traveled away in any direction, the only nobles we'd run into are the ones who don't care about their position so much."

"Nobles that don't care?" she laughed humorlessly, "You are dreaming my dear."

"You forget," I said, staring at her intently, "My mother was a noble."

She stared at me, open-mouthed, trying to come up with a remark to say, but never managed to do so. Instead she rose from her seat and went into her kitchen, mumbling something about getting cups of tea. While she was away, I rose from my seat, forcing the cat off my lap, and stared out the shop window that faced the main street of the village. Their was no one out--and who can blame them? Along with being a day devoted to rest, the weather was very mucky. It was overcast out, and humid--I was glad to be free of duties today. This weather was bad enough without having to work. The miller's wife found me staring out the window still, as she walked in with a tea pot and two cups.

"What is so intriguing about an empty dirt road, Norie?"

I turned and laughed softly. Sitting back in the chair, sans feline friend this time, I replied, "You know me, I find the weirdest things interesting."

She laughed at that, and then relaxed, as if a tension was released. She handed me a delicate white cup and filled it with tea, then poured some more into her own. "Pretty bad weather we are having isn't it," she then replied carelessly, I think trying to change the subject from the more touchy subject from before. I turned my head around to face the outdoors again. "Did you some people actually like this kind of weather?" Even more relived I think, at the increased relaxation of tension, she laughed some more.

She then carelessly chatted away about her cat, who would sporadically race across the room after invisible insects or the latest lace pattern she saw in a shop for more well-to-do patrons. We didn't again return to discussing the kingdom's royalty or nobility. That was, until, the miller came in, interrupting our gossiping session.

"Mattie!" he said to his wife, as he rushed into the room, "Old Tom just heard--The Prince has re-captured Espera and is returning home!"

Not as excited as her husband, though obviously happy at the news, she stated how good the it was and how exciting it will be to see the Prince and his guardsman walk the streets of the village enroute to the royal capital. However, this all mattered very little, as surprising as it may sound. For as long as I can remember, the port city had traded hands between the feuding countries at least 7 times. In a year and a half, I am sure, we'll lose it again. After her husband left to spread the 'good news', I mentioned that to my host.

"You never know," she remarked matter-of-factly, "This could be the beginning of the end this time." Then she added coyly, "At least we can see the prince. He is so handsome, you know."

"So I have heard," I casually replied, unmoved by her flattery of the royal.

"Why such distaste?" she asked, curious at my response.

"The prince is like all royals--a stuck up, arrogant fool."

"You don't know that," she softly remarked, "And why do you hate the royalty so?"

"How can you ask that?" I angrily asked, rising from my chair suddenly, "I am ordered into a life of servitude, a life of eternal hardship and suffering, without any honor and nameless, unless you count the insults I get. Must you ask why I hate the ones who did that to me!"

She leaned back in her chair and sighed. "They were just following procedure," she carefully said in a soft voice, trying to calm my rising temper, "You cannot hate them for that."

"And that is my father's fault," I venomously snapped, "And I hate him for that--more then I ever could hate the royally!"

The miller's wife stood up from her chair to face me, her facial expression full of anger. "How dare you speak of him in such a way!" 

I stared at her, surprised by her outburst, but nonetheless resolved in my stand. "You make no sense," I angrily replied, "You speak highly of the royalty, and yet canonized a traitor against them!"

"You know nothing of went on the days preceding and of the assassination of the king. Don't speak as if you are all knowing of your father's acts."

"I know enough to realize who's fault it is that I am practically a slave to a woman of court, and why having a father named Nathaniel Sutter makes me the evil spawn of the kingdom. You try to walk in my shoes for a while before you criticize me, madam."

The miller's wife calmed down slightly, though I still was enraged. Her stare turned from angrily intent to motherly, and attempting to return calm, replied, "Norie, I know its hard for you to realize this, but you should be proud of your father."

"How can I be proud of him?" I exclaimed, "I never knew him!"

"Sit down," she said now stern, pointing to my chair as she herself took her seat. "Let me tell you a little bit about what happened."

I resentfully took my seat, in no mood to hear the supposed heroics of the man I despise the most. She poured more tea in my cup from the pot and pushed it towards me. After watching me take a sip of tea and relax a tad, she began her brief journey into a time I never knew.

"We all should have died the day they were hanged," she stated, which of course caught my attention. What does she mean by that, I thought, and before I could ask she answered. "It was a hard time; we were being over come in the war and the market for goods severely dropped. Everyone was financially hurting during that recession, even the king. However, since he didn't want to pull out of the war or lower his standard of living, he taxed the common people so much more to make up for the loss of revenue. Of course we couldn't pay it--we were already not even making ends-meet without the added burdens. He wouldn't relent though, and that drove us all to poverty. Can you blame us for getting upset and frustrated?" I shook my head and she took that as a sign to continue, "We protested in the streets and stopped producing food and supplies, but it never amounted to anything. So more drastic measures were taken. We all plotted the king's execution. We all wanted him dead. For months we planned it; we constructed maps of the castle's underground paths, bribed royal guardsmen, provided weapons, and even just encouraged the mission. Seven men volunteered to carry it out, and took up their swords and snuck into the castle. They managed to kill the king, to our joy, but were captured some how--that part we never found out. They were men of honor, fighting against tyranny. And it worked--the steward who presided over the kingdom since the heir was only 3 at the time, never dared to exploit the commoners to such a degree. The rest of us also were never turned in by the caught men--saving us from repercussions. They were good, decent people who gave their lives to help us."

I knew she was trying to move me with a passionate speech of the good deeds of these people. But it didn't work. I didn't see heroics, I saw stupidity, and look what good it did for me. "If you call them heroes, why do you support the royalty the rebelled against?" I asked, trying to find a hole in her story.

"I only am doing what it takes to survive. If that means accepting royalty rule over me, then so be it. So, no I am not a freedom fighter like your father was, if that is what you are implying."

"But its okay for other people to die for you," I sarcastically replied.

"Nora Sutter!" she exclaimed, "your mother would never approve of such disrespect!"

"Maybe you have forgotten, madam," I angrily retorted, "But my mother is dead, no thanks to the actions of rebels like you and my father!" I rose from my seat, and turned to leave.

"Your mother was just as much of a supporter of the rebellion as I was," she called after me, which stopped me in my tracks. I stared at her with disbelief. After seeing that she got my attention back, replied calmly from her seat at the table, "Until the day of his death, she stood by your father. To the day she herself died, she never condemned your father, nor blamed him for her situation. She had the same beliefs as the rest of us and was proud that your father was brave enough to help bring it to pass. She would have followed him to the gallows if she wasn't carrying you at the time."

"I don't believe you," I answered, remembering countless nights of seeing my mother weep while staring into the night sky. I knew she had the same feelings of hopelessness and anger as I. She only talked well of my father to make me love the man I would never know. Well, it didn't work--I saw through it all. How could a miller's wife know fully of what my mother gave up? My thoughts were racing as I walked out of the miller's shop and into the abandoned streets. It still was the afternoon, so I couldn't return home. I then walked onto the edge of the village where it and the forest met. Sitting under a giant tree, I placed my head in my hands and cried. Not because I missed my mother (though I did) or because I suddenly loved my father (because I didn't). No, it was because I knew that I lost one of my only friends and felt so alone. And it was all my father's fault.


	7. The next morning

I wandered in a quarter passed midnight and nobody missed me.  
  
I fell asleep under the tree and woke up during the peak of the twilight hour. I had only the stars to illuminate the path home and the fact that I was still far too upset to think was the only reason I was not so scared.  
  
I ran into Cook sneaking in, hoping to snatch a leftover piece of bread and maybe some butter before I went into my little room. She could not believe I spent the day sleeping under a tree near the forest.  
  
"There are thieves and criminals hiding in those woods. Norie, you are lucky to be in one piece. A little common sense would have told you to stay away," she lectured me, "How could you do something that careless? Do you realize how easily you could have been raped or murdered?!"  
  
I cared little for her speech, as enlightening as it may have been, and simply gave my good nights and left. She stared after me as I left the kitchen, slid outside and then into my room, having forgotten the task of finding some food. Wishing that fatigue would override my overactive emotions, I laid, still dressed in my day clothes, on my rickety bed and watched shadows dance on my ceiling. No longer as angry as before, I could feel sadness creeping in. I never was one to flare up with anger at my friends-the emotion was usually saved for when I thought of my father. My friends, being so rare, were precious to me. Why did I so easily throw one away today?  
  
I rolled over on my side and sighed deeply. I knew then I would not sleep tonight, and instead racked my mind with questions from the afternoon. Over and over I played the scene in the miller's shop in my head. How could such a little thing cause so much anger between us? I wish she understood me, I thought, and then she would see why I can't idolize my father. Can't she see what he did was wrong?  
  
Shaking the thought from my head, I rolled onto my stomach, trying to erase all thoughts. But they lingered and I knew a long night was ahead of me.  
  
------  
  
I was up well before dawn, already washed and dressed. Soft morning breezes blew through my window, relaxing my tense muscles a little bit. My head ached from the lack of sleep and my thoughts still raced in my mind. With nothing else to do for the time being, I sat on my bed and let the thoughts run rampant. That is until all the emotional outpouring frustrated me, and I rose from my bed and fled to the chilly out-of-door.  
  
It was so tranquil with no one about the fields or the orchards and cleared my thoughts by wondering along the apple trees. Their fruit already harvested, they looked sad and bare, but still had a lingering sweet smell. When I was little, my mother told me that the smells of spring and summer were kisses from the sun. That was why apples and berries were always so sweet, she explained. I couldn't help smiling at such a happy memory of my mother.  
  
How could such a happy person, I thought, live with such sadness and ridicule? I know my mother gave up so much after my father died. How did it not break her heart and her spirit? I could not imagine what gave her enough strength to carry on.  
  
The dawn eased in slowly, so subtlety that I didn't notice it. Or maybe it was because I was so absorbed in my thoughts. Regardless, I had to run across the field and into the kitchen, and breathless was still late by Cook's standards.  
  
"Norie," she said disapprovingly, "Did you sleep late again? Though I am not surprised since you were up so late." Her hands were on her hips and she had a stern expression, though I could see she was fighting a smile. I slowly regained my breath before I replied.  
  
"Actually, I was in the field day-dreaming-I've been up for a couple hours at least."  
  
Her expression softened quickly, and turned worried. "Is something wrong, dear?"  
  
I grabbed a slice of bread from the newly baked loaf and smeared a small amount of raspberry jam on it, my hunger now apparent that my head was clear-for the time being. Between mouthfuls I managed to reply, "It's nothing to worry about. Besides, there is too much to do then to worry about childish woes." After a glass of juice, I pulled 2 china plates out of the cupboard.  
  
"Will the Scheffields be eating at the table or in their chambers?" I asked.  
  
"I doubt they are even up or that they will be for a while," she replied her disapproval apparent, "they were up late consuming impressive amounts of wine with their companions last night. It was at least 11 by the time their guests left. Anyways, I am sure they will be in no mood for an early rising."  
  
Still holding the delicate plates, I stood puzzled. "So, do I prepare their breakfast or not?"  
  
"Oh by all means do, but just don't prepare it to get eaten. Wake the mistress up and see what she desires." Cook then began to slice a bucket of apples, intended for a pie. I didn't want to see Madam Scheffield in any mood, especially one after such an event, but as it was apparent negotiations were closed, I was stuck with the job.  
  
Sighing, I placed the plates aside and left the kitchen.  
  
I trudged up the steps and enroute to her room, I straightened out my rumpled dress the best I could. I knew Madam Scheffield would not approve of wrinkles-even in the likes of me. I stood in front of her door and paused a moment before I finally rapped on the door. Might as well get this over with, I thought.  
  
There was no response, and I knocked again. I stood outside the door waiting for a response.  
  
"Who on earth is it?" a rather cranky voice came from behind the door.  
  
"It's Nora, madam," I replied, "I was sent to find out your plans for breakfast."  
  
"There will be no breakfast, girl, I am in no mood for an early rise today!" she angrily spoke through the door. "Tell Cook just to plan something extra nice for lunch." There was a pause, and just as I turned to leave, she added, "While you are here though, I do have some plans for you. There are mice in the attic. See to it that they aren't by the time I get up." That was my sign to go-though I had no desire to clean out an attic in search of nasty little critters. I replied, "Yes madam," though I didn't think she hear me and left.  
  
"What we really need is a cat," I told Cook when I returned to the kitchen.  
  
"Don't be silly," she responded, "The mistress is very superstitious. She would never want a cat in her house. Just go find a broom."  
  
"And how is that going to help? Am I supposed to sweep them up?" I was trying to be funny, but it came out sounding whiny. Thankfully, Cook either didn't notice or care.  
  
"You're a creative girl, I am sure you'll figure something out."  
  
I sighed loudly, almost melodramatically, and grabbed a broom from the closet. I opened the door to the attic stairs and slowly stepped up them. I was hit with a musty smell that made it apparent that no one has been up there in a while. I am sure I was the last one up there, and that was over a year ago. Everyone hated the rickety floors and spooky atmosphere of having very little light. The floor also was covered in dust. I could imagine Camille cringing at just the thought of walking through it. One thing I did not see was evidence of furry intruders.  
  
There were no little feet tracks in the dust-covered floor or holes in the base of any of the crates near the entrance. I pushed aside wooden boxes and trunks of Madam's daughter's out-grown clothes and walked further into the room. I coughed, having inhaled too much dust at one time, but kept searching for the little mice. I still hadn't found any by the time I was at the other end of the room. It was darker on this side and the accumulation of dust on things showed that it was a really long time since anyone was in this part of the attic. I knew this job was pointless, and I might as well tidy it up a bit and go back down stairs. I am sure I would be more useful then hunting down invisible pests.  
  
I started sweeping and in even a few minutes, I had an impressive pile, and it kept growing rapidly. I pushed aside odds and ends to get the dust underneath, at the same time wiping off the dust that coated the tops of the tables and chairs and other knick-knacks. I pulled a trunk out of the corner of the room and swept the grime behind it, then took the thread-bare handkerchief I had been using before to clean belongings off, and wiped away the dust cover.  
  
Scrawled across the antique looking leather of the trunk's lid in flowing calligraphy was the name "Cendrillion." It belonged to my mother. 


	8. The trunk

I stared at the trunk as it sat in the corner of the room, all other thoughts gone and the cleaning abandoned. All that mattered was this object that I never knew about, that was my mother's, this link to her that was unknown. I suddenly kneeled beside it, examining the fasteners. There were two metal latches that were opened easily. However, there was also a lock, sealing it tight. Where on earth would I find a key for this seemingly abandoned, unknown treasure box? Does Madam Scheffield know about this, I thought. If she did, she'd never give me a key to open it and probably claim whatever was in it. I couldn't let that happen. Maybe Cook would know what to do. She was my mother's friend.  
  
I swept up the remains of the dust off the floor and once again inspected for mice. There was none. I pulled a dirty once-white table cloth out of a box of old housewares and placed it over my mother's trunk then pushed it back in the corner, afraid of someone else finding it before I could find a way to open it. Hopefully no one will come up here anytime soon, I thought, as I walked across the room, broom in hand. I looked back on the trunk, still worried at someone discovering it and also excited over what treasures it may hold.  
  
I quickly walked down the steps and rushed across the hall, trying to make way to the kitchen so I could talk to Cook. However, enroute, I nearly crashed into a still drowsy Camille.  
  
"Watch where you are going!" she shrieked, more out of being caught off- guard then anything else. "I don't want the likes of you to touch me," she added sneering at me, as if I were a disease.  
  
"Forgive me," I managed to whisper as I curtseyed quickly, hoping to get away from her fast.  
  
"Forgive you?" she laughed scornfully, "I will never forgive you for your very presence being here." She pointed down the stairs, "Go find something to make you slightly more then useless." And then she returned in the direction of her room  
  
Another wonderful day, I thought bitterly, as I hurriedly made my way down the stairs and into the kitchen. Not wanting to mention anything in front of the scullery maids for fear of them relaying it to madam, I waited in a corner until the kitchen was emptied.  
  
"Cook?" I then replied, as she concentrated on delicately laying out pieces of cheese in a design on a plate. She jumped, having been immersed in concentration.  
  
"Child," she managed to say in-between breaths, "You scared me half to death." Then she added, trying to justify her fright, "Aren't you supposed to be looking for mice?"  
  
"The only thing in the attic is some dust and cobwebs," I said, genuinely laughing, "Madam Scheffield must be mistaken."  
  
"Hmmm." she mumbled, now back to her work, "well, that is nice dear."  
  
"I did find a trunk of my mothers."  
  
She turned back to me. "Are you sure its hers? Maybe it's one of the mistress's relatives."  
  
"It said 'Cendrillion' on it, so it belonged to my mother."  
  
She then laughed at me, "Dear, your mother was 'Cinderella' not 'Cendrillion.' Honestly Norie, you can't function with so little sleep." She then patted my head like I was a puppy and then once again returned to making her cheese design.  
  
"She was Lady Cendrillion before working for the Scheffields. It was only after the noble name no longer fit that she took on Cinderella. Just as I am called Nora and not Eleanor. That is her trunk in the attic and I have a right to whatever is in it." I never had a real possession before and the thought excited me. "However," I added, "it's locked with no sign of a key anywhere."  
  
"Norie," Cook replied sadly, still facing her platter, "The mistress will not allow you to have whatever is in there. She'll claim that as your guardian she is in fact the one with the rights to it. Just forget about it dear, okay?"  
  
I nodded and left the room, but I couldn't forget. I would find a way to open it-it was my last connection to my mother I had. I wasn't going to lose it for any reason. Just how and when though were going to complicate things. I would have to wait for a day when the Scheffield's went for a walk in the park or go to town, and then manage to get all my chores down and find a way to open it. It wasn't going to be easy. Until then, I had things to do.  
  
It was already passed noon and Madam Scheffield still hadn't risen though there were many cameos of Camille, either whining to Cook or yelling at me. I am sure I met my quota of getting damned to hell for the day and it wasn't even over yet.  
  
"Should I wake her up?" I asked Cook, "She won't be thrilled to know she is sleeping the day away."  
  
"I am sure she isn't going to mind. Just let her sleeps and take this to Camille." And then Cook handed me a platter of bread and cheese, laid out in a design of the sun. I liked it better when the Scheffield's ate at the table; then all I had to do was clear it off later and be productive somewhere out of the way. Unless on the rare occasion I was invited to eat with them, but that hasn't happened since Yuletide.  
  
Sighing, I took the plate and walked up the staircase again and knocked on Camille's door.  
  
"Who is it?" she said sharply, opening the door, still in her night shift and her hair a mess. The dark rings under her eyes also proved that she still hadn't recovered from the night before. It was almost delightful to see her a mess. Seeing me, she narrowed her eyes, and stared down at me, like a cat about to pounce its prey. "What on earth do you want?"  
  
"Its lunch time," I replied softy, my voice shaking, looking down on the plate, "Cook asked me to deliver it to your room."  
  
"Tell Cook," she sneered, "That I am disappointed with her service. She should have picked a better messenger. Maybe one who wont poison my food" With that she grabbed the plate from my hand and slammed the door before I could curtsy. Well, whatever. I hope you choke on it, I thought angrily, as I stalked away, though I took it back and felt horrible by the time I reached the stairs down. 


	9. Roses

"Girl!" I heard Madam Scheffield call down to me, as I washed the dark carpeting of the stairs with a damp cloth. I placed my cleaning materials to the side and rose from my kneeling position on the steps and walked up to the madam.  
  
"When you are done with the stairs, and before you begin the windows, I want you to pick up 3 dozen roses from the florist. The last day of summer will be celebrated here with elegance."  
  
"Yes, madam," I replied, hoping the flower seller still would have his booth open this late in the afternoon, "What color would you prefer?"  
  
"A dusty pink or maybe a darker fuchsia," she replied, thinking, "If they are out of those, ask the florist for his professional opinion. Something elegant that smells beautiful. Understand that all, girl?" I nodded as I was given the required amount of gold coins then curtseyed before I left to finish my first task at hand. I was really paranoid that there wouldn't be enough roses to fill the mistress's orders, and quickly brushed the stairs, hoping to not have to be reprimanded today. While I finished quickly, I then was afraid it wouldn't be up to either of the ladies of the house's expectations. No time to worry, I then thought and went to my room to grab my basket and woolen cloak.  
  
Quickly I walked along the path to the village, without time to spare, I avoided any distraction. Thus I ignored the bubbling brook and cloudless sky. I also tried to ignore the miller shop, but as I passed it I still, after this long month, felt a pang of regret over what all happened there. I also hoped to avoid their stand at the market, thinking it was too late for them to even be open, noting the other closed kiosks. Luckily, they were closed or at least not set-up enroute to the florists, and I was able to once again avoid uneasy feelings there.  
  
The florist's booth, however, was also closed, and I had to turn back around and hope that his shop was still open, or at least him still around. Madam Scheffield would not be pleased to hear it if I failed. I also didn't want added chores added to already too many to make up for it.  
  
I rapped on the door-it was locked, though lights were still on inside, hoping someone would answer. I knocked again, more urgently, becoming increasingly more frustrated and anxious. Finally, mid knock of my third attempt, the door was open, and an aging man with a slight hunch appeared in the entry way.  
  
"Who disturbs an old man trying to relax?" he gruffly stated, then placed his spectacles on his nose, "Have you no respect for your elders? In my day- --"  
  
When he recognized me he stopped his lecture and even smiled. "Miss Nora, it's a pleasure."  
  
With a sigh of relief I relayed my problem to him. "Elegant and beautiful," I added, stating the kind of rose Madam Scheffield wanted.  
  
"Kind of late to begin flower shopping for the end of summer celebrations don't you think? A big party does she have planned?"  
  
"No," I replied, "she is waiting until the equinox for an extravagant party. Just she and Camille will celebrate this year."  
  
"Three dozen roses, eh?" he commented, moving to let me in, "Let me see what I can do, but no promises, missy."  
  
His shop was small, yet cozy, without much for decorations, except for various flowers in vases throughout the whitewashed room. He offered me a seat beside an unlit fireplace and left through a door to a back room. I waited in the air, staring at a vase of flowers while I heard him shuffler around in the other room. He was gone for a while, which wasn't a god sign. I hope Madam Scheffield is in a forgiving mood, I though.  
  
The afternoon was turning to the beginnings of evening by the time he returned, flowers in hand. "I couldn't find all dusty pink and fuchsias," he said, "so I added some light lavenders and a softer pink as well. It's the best I could do on such a short notice."  
  
"I am sure it'll be okay," I said, accepting the roses, hoping my statement was true. I handed over the money, and placed the flowers in the basket. Thanking him profusely for selling me the flowers after business hours, I left the florist shop and stepped onto the street.  
  
There were no crowds this time of day, but it wasn't completely abandoned. An occasional passerby would also be on the street-mostly workers closing booths from the daily market, since business pretty much was ceased for the day. At least today I didn't run into nobles out-and-about wanting to buy goods, thus missed any mockery from them. No decent person would be out this time of day in the village.  
  
"What is someone like you doing out this late?" a voice asked from behind me, and I turned with a start. "It's been a long time, fair lady," it added, now facing me, "I hope I haven't been forgotten." He smiled down at me, humorously, and I stood in shock having never expected to run into him again. After a while of silence, I still wasn't able to say anything. "Still think a royal guard shouldn't socialize with you, lady? A lady as fair as you actually shouldn't converse with one as boring as I." Again his eyes twinkled, but indeed, I still felt it was dishonorable to be around me.  
  
I started to slowly walk away and avoid talking to him all together, but the guard would not allow such an easy get-away. He grabbed my wrist and wouldn't let go when I tried to pull it back. "You really think you are that horrid, my lady? I assure you, you aren't."  
  
I had been looking at the ground, avoiding his stare, and continued to do so as I managed, "Tell that to your fellow country men. I am as wanted here as the plague."  
  
"That is not true and you know it," he said almost sternly, "there are many people who respect your father. He was---"  
  
"My father is nothing but rebel scum!" I retorted angrily, now staring into his eyes, which lost all their humor now, "And because of him, I constantly damn this kingdom with my presence. The royalty hates me, the nobles hate me, and the gentry all hate me! The only people who don't seem to care are the peasants, and what they think doesn't matter."  
  
"Of course it does. The working class is the very foundation of this kingdom. Lose them and everything else will collapse. And not everyone hates you!"  
  
"Yes they do!"  
  
"I don't, my lady," he said quietly, "I already ruin your argument there."  
  
"What's wrong with you?"  
  
"I beg your pardon?" he asked.  
  
"Why don't you hate me? Why don't you, like all your royal cronies, dislike me?"  
  
"I happen to believe in the good of people," he said thoughtfully, "as least until they are given the chance to prove themselves either way. I'm not ready to label you anything yet."  
  
"You are just a damned fool," I muttered, then tried to continue on my way, but he still stood in my way.  
  
"Indeed so," he said smiling again, and then added, "I'd rather be a damned fool among bland conformity then normal like everyone else." There was a pause and replied adding, "I guess it's sad if I am a fool for thinking the best of everyone."  
  
"Sir Knight, I am flattered you think of me so highly, but in all seriousness, I am not worthy of such praise." He still wouldn't let it rest though. "I know inside you are as beautiful as your appearance," he responded.  
  
I snorted in a very unladylike matter. "I am not beautiful, sir; if you want beauty, go to the next noble's ball."  
  
"No, that isn't beauty, that is vanity and pride. It's all a parade of jewels and finery, nothing more. And fair lady, maybe its time you looked in a mirror." With that, he ran a finger across my cheek, making me shiver, and I drag back, away from his reach. Looking back at me, he replied, "You will see there are many things beautiful about you-and to be honest, not all can be seen. Just take a minute and think of yourself as someone other then a rebel spawn. You are the daughter of one of the great beauties of the kingdom; maybe think of that instead."  
  
With that, he presented me with a light pink rose, unlike the ones in my basket as it was bred not to have thorns, so my fingers were not pricked. "Roses are the most beautiful of flowers," he commented, "A lady like you deserves one." After I took it, I felt his fingers dwell on mine for the briefest of moments then he winked at me, and headed off in the opposite direction. I stared after him, perplexed by this stranger that seemed to know me so well. More well then even me.  
  
How did he know I loved roses? 


	10. Reflections and Revelations

Hey-thanks for all the reviews I received since starting this story. And I apologize fpr the delay updating it.  
  
----- Stepping into the hall, after carefully wiping my feet on the mat outside the door, I headed towards the parlor where the Scheffields celebration would occur. It was dusk now, so I made it just in time for festivities. I hoped Madam Sheffield would not reprimand me for being later then expected though. Doubting I was invited to the celebration, I just knocked on the door waiting for it to be opened for me. While waiting, I wandered to the hall mirror nearby and stared at my reflection.  
  
I never really paid any heed to my appearance. There wasn't time for vanities or pleasantries of beauty. So, my supposedly wavy hair hung in frizzy masses since I only had time to comb it once in the morning and had nothing to pull it back with. My clothes were washed out hand-me-downs and my face had a line of soot across one cheek.  
  
'How could he think of me as a lady?' I thought to myself, following the smudge one my face with a finger.  
  
Continuing to stare at my reflection, I did see traces of my mother in my face-her raven locks and dark eyes, but nothing I would deem 'beautiful' as my mother was once.  
  
'He must have been mistaken or easy to flatter,' I concluded, but stared on at my mirror image.  
  
"There is not much to see," I heard to my side, in a frank, humorless voice. Madam Scheffield was standing in the archway, and I, angry with myself thought how stupid it was for me to be lost in my thoughts when I was expected elsewhere.  
  
Hurriedly, I rushed to her, and curtseyed before presenting her with my basket of flowers. Lifting it from the ground, me meticulously looked through them, muttering about quality and color. "This is the best he could do?" she asked looking up from the basket.  
  
"Yes, madam," I quietly replied. I wanted to mention how inconvenienced the florist was at such a late hour, but was at least smart enough to know to hold my tongue.  
  
"Considering how late you are, I expected better flowers."  
  
There was nothing I could say to her statement, so I remained silent as her gaze returned to the basket and she sighed once more at its contents.  
  
"Well, I guess it will have to do."  
  
With that, she sashayed into the parlor, basket in hand, and shut the door in my face. 'I guess I am not invited again,' I thought. At least she wasn't angry with me and I do have the rest of the day off. I almost returned to the gaze of the mirror, but then Madam Scheffield's comment rang clear in my mind. She was right-there was nothing to see.  
  
I wanted to tell Cook of my adventures in town, but I knew she would be busy all night making deserts and sweet meats for the festivities. We wouldn't get much sugar once the fall came in and harvesting slowed down. So, sugary treats were a must at the celebration party. Me? If I was lucky maybe there would be a raspberry scone left.  
  
I always got sad during holidays. I had no family to celebrate them with, the shops in town were closed and my friends were busy or with their families. Its no fun at joyous times to celebrate alone.  
  
Then I got an idea. Now would be the perfect time to attempt to break into my mother's trunk. The thought suddenly excited me, pulling me out of my depressed stupor and headed for the stairs to the attic. I grabbed a candlestick from the hallway, and slowly, not trying to make an audible sound, walked up the stairs.  
  
Already creepy during the day, it was completely frightening this late at night. Only things just a few inches in front of my face were visible, and I was paranoid I would trip on something, disturbing the whole household. Slowly I made my way though the dusty room to the far end of the attic. Exactly as I left it last, lay my mother's trunk.  
  
Immediately, I pulled off the fabric covering and stared at the writing once more. 'Cendrillion' was a beautiful name, I thought to myself as I knelt down beside the red, antiqued-leather case. Suddenly I found myself imaging my mother in her youth-beautiful enough to catch the eye of a wealthy baron, but fickle to fall for a poor tradesman. 'What were you thinking, mama.' I thought with mild bitterness, 'you could have had all the riches in the world and you chose poverty. Look what good it did you.' Signing, I found myself hugging the trunk, the last physical reminder I had of her. I was on the verge of tears before I managed to catch myself. My thoughts then turned to the lock on the trunk. How on earth was I going to get this opened?  
  
I tugged on the leather holding the lock in place, but it wouldn't budge no matter how hard I tried. I couldn't pick it with a wire coat hanger I found in a nearby box. Nothing could penetrate the lock. Through frustrated tears, I silently damned the stupid trunk, for keeping me away from memories of my mother. Just how cruel is fate? I thought.  
  
Finally, I decided I would just have to snap the lock with a axe or other sharp object, destroying the sentimentally priceless container. I just wanted to touch my mother's possessions so badly, and resolved to find such a device to do it. Not caring at that moment for the noise I could make, I wandered in search of something I could break a lock with. Walking around stacks of crates full of cloths and out-of-date furniture and upholstery fabric, I eventually found a small metal container holding gardening tools. Though rusty, they were still usable, and I chose a pair of pruning shears. Not very big, but sharp, I returned to the trunk and attempted to snap the lock. While that didn't work too well, I managed to cut the protective layer of leather around it and shoved one of the blades down into it. Jiggling it back and forth I crushed the lock mechanisms. Finally I heard the distinctive click I was looking for, and lifted up the now destroyed lock. Not able to also lift the lid, my heart beat quickened as I placed my fingers on the pointed edges, getting a good grasp, and pushed up the heavy lid, not knowing what I would find. 


	11. More reflections and revelations

First, I want to give an apology for the cliff-hanger at the end of my last chapter. I know I hate them as much as you. It just seemed like the best wrap up for that moment. I didn't want to write further and not give the next moments enough length, but also didn't want to end it before either. I hope you can forgive me for the grave evilness thrust onto you. ;)  
  
----  
  
I was suddenly hit with a wave of musty air as it escaped it cage for years and escaped into freedom. The inlaid wood of the trunk also had a pungent, old smell, like books on the highest shelves of the library that no one ever read. With my heart still racing, I surveyed the trunks contents, wondering what of my mother's was inside. Pulling aside a white lace covering, I made my way to my new-found treasure-trove.  
  
To my surprise, the first layer was letters tied together in bundles with pink ribbons-to my mother from my only guess being my grandmother. I could not think who else 'Lady Colette Alser' could have been, unless it was a sister or a distant relation. I didn't have time to find out. Placing them aside, I looked deeper in. Hoping for journals or some sort of documentation of my mother's childhood, which I was never told of, I was disappointed to find instead hair combs, ribbon-braided bracelets, and other frilly possessions a noble youth would have possessed. At least I found a lovely hand mirror of white marble or ivory with gold colored leaving of flowers on the handle. Still not informative or useful, it was much prettier and valuable then anything I ever had before.  
  
Taking the mirror out carefully, I pushed the rest to the side. That is when I found out they were cushioning an 8X10 portrait of my mother when she was about my age. It was unframed, and the edges were crushed from being poorly stored for so long. It was surprising to find it here. My mother's family was not wealthy, though still noble, and a portrait like this one would cost a fortune to commission. Why was it tossed away so carelessly?  
  
I stared down at the picture of my mother and noted that once she was so beautiful. Though in my memories of her she was still gorgeous, in this portrait she had the radiance of youth and a carefree innocence in her smile. There were no rings under eyes marring her fair complexion or a constant persona of sadness and stress that I remember having. Her hair was superbly braided and she wore a pearl necklace around her slender neck. The collar of her dress was embroidered with gold and blue flowers, and clasped at the throat. I knew it was her, but it looked so unlike her at the same time. She was once such a noble woman.  
  
Lifting the painting up, to get a better look of it in the dim attic, I studied my mother's features. 'Did you have any idea what would befall you?' I asked the painting. Obviously it didn't, for it kept smiling at me. 'Did you ever think you would wash steps of a lesser noble just because you made a stupid decision in your youth?'  
  
I then realized that if she was my age in the portrait, it wouldn't be long until she married my father. 'You will know all too well hardship in a little bit,' I spoke out loud to the painting. Then I decided that if I was talking to my dead mother's picture, I must be going crazy and set it aside.  
  
I gasped when I saw what was beneath it.  
  
It was the dress she wore in the portrait, with the gold and blue embroidery on the color and clasp at the throat. It was otherwise silky white, with a translucent overdress embroidered on the hem with the same pattern as the collar. The sleeves were made out of just the sheer fabric and were also embroidered, reaching my wrist in slight bells. There was also a blue and gold cord to tie around the waist. It was so beautiful and unblemished. Where on earth would my mother wear such a garment? A fancy ball? She was betrothed to a baron. Maybe it was a gift from him? My mind raced with questions, but I knew I was drawing near the end of my time in the attic.  
  
I wouldn't be needed for the rest of the evening, but I had no reason to be in the attic if I were to be caught there. Quickly, not noting if anything else lay under the gown, I folded it as well as I could to prevent anymore creasing of the delicate fabric and placed the picture back on top of it. Recovering it with the hair pieces I pushed aside before, and placing the letters on top of that, and finally shoving in the lace, I shut the trunk as best I could. I then scooted it back in its place in the shadows and covered it once more. Now knowing what wonderful possessions now lay in it, I was more fearful of it being discovered. I had to remind myself that I was the only one whoever went up n the attic, which did ease my worries a bit. This time, I knew better then to tell Cook what I discovered. For some reason, I was afraid of another reaction like last time. The only thing I didn't pack up was the mirror. Remembering her portrait I looked into it once again, comparing my likeness to hers. I had her brown eyes and dark hair. Maybe even the fair complexion though mine was dirty and smudged. However, something different about me made me seem less radiant, less beautiful. What marred my appearance, preventing me to look like the gorgeous lady I saw in the picture?  
  
Oh yeah, I thought bitterly, it was my father.  
  
-----  
  
Quickly, but making sure to still not make a sound, I went down the steps from the attic and the ones from the 2nd story into the main hallway. Luck was on my side and Iran into no one, and managed to get into my room unseen. Hiding my mirror the best I could in-amongst my straw mattress, I finally was able slow down and think straight.  
  
Between running into the royal guard and finally finding out what was in my mother's trunk, my thoughts were in somersaults. I still wasn't used to being a 'fair lady' and the reflection I saw in the mirror reminded me why. What was he thinking? Why couldn't I be beautiful like my mother?  
  
Then is suddenly dawned on me-I gave the rose I received from him to Madam Scheffield with the rest of the flowers in my basket.  
  
Amongst all this excitement and rapid-thinking, I felt so sad-I thought my heart would then break. How could I have been so thoughtless? It was such a lovely rose. 


End file.
